


What you don't Know... can't hurt you?

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [48]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Happy Ending, Hugs, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), YES YOU READ IT RIGHT HUGS!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: Trying to help a friend, Aziraphale gets hit by a strange, powerful spell.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Anathema Device & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Brian & Pepper & Wensleydale & Adam Young (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [48]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 154
Kudos: 106





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is a rush job and I'm sorry about it!  
> Long day at work, and so little time to post...  
> I already have the whole story in head, and I think it's going to be an interesting one (at least if I succed in writing it RIGHT)  
> I only posted this little chapter as an opening. Will probably work some more on it tomorrow, because I'm not satisfied with it.
> 
> I will also expand the summary after tomorrow's chapter. Don't want to spoil too much of the rest of the story, ha ha!

Mr. Crowley’s Bentley was well known in this part of Soho. The bookshop’s neighbours had developed a Pavlovian reaction to the sound of its doors closing*, sending them in a hurry to the nearest side-walk.

*And to Freddy Mercury’s voice.

Every living soul in the vicinity was used to seeing the black car roam the streets at high speed. But nothing could have prepared Mrs. Meshle, the florist, to the sight of dear Mr. Fell hurrying out of his shop with his partner, vaguely waving his hand over his shoulder in the shop’s direction.

The bookseller was _running_ . Mr. Fell _never_ ran.

With a roar, the car disappeared around the corner with enough speed for a plane to take flight.

Mrs. Meschle looked at the bookshop worryingly. She really hoped nothing bad had happened.

* * *

“Did he say anything else?” snapped Crowley, barely avoiding a reckless lamp-post.The angel was clutching at the dashboard with one hand, the other leaving its imprints on the door handle. “No!” he yelped, eyes tightly closed. “He only said Anathema had some sort of magical accident while experimenting on a new potion.”

Crowley hissed, eyes fixed on the street ahead. “That girl is too reckless.”

“That is rich, coming from you,” mumbled Aziraphale. 

“I’m not reckless. I’m immortal,” snapped the demon, speeding up.

Aziraphale swallowed a squeal and wisely decided not to insist.

* * *

Newton was waiting at the window and rushed out as soon as the Bentley stopped in front of Jasmine Cottage with a loud screech.

Angel and demon hurried to him.

“Where is she?”

“Is she quite all right?”

“What the fuck happened?”

Newt raised his hands. “Please, not so loud! She’s fallen asleep, and I don’t want you to scare her.”

Aziraphale gathered all the calm he could muster. “Newton, what happened exactly?”

Newt opened the door, motioning silently towards the bedchamber to explain his wife was there, and directed his guests to the kitchen. Three cups of tea sat on the counter forlornly. By the temperature of it (cold as a winter night) Crowley judged it had been waiting for them since the desperate phone-call.

Newt took a deep, slightly trembling breath in.

“Ana was working on a new spell. You know she’s very good at potions, right?”

Both immortal entities nodded. They both had been subjected to hour-long bouts of questioning about their past encounters with human magic.

“She has been experimenting on a potion that would erase the long lasting effects of a deep trauma, lately.”

Crowley grimaced.

“Oh, dear,” muttered Aziraphale. “Using magic to alter someone’s mind is highly dangerous.”

Newton looked a little sheepish. “I know, she told me so. But you know how decided she can be, and she is always so very careful…”

Crowley patted his shoulder. “Hey, accidents happen, okay? It’s not your fault. It’s going to be fine.”

Over Newton’s head, he could see Aziraphale frown at his words.

Well, yes, maybe assuring they would take care of the situation easily was a bit of a stretch, but lying was his _thing_.

“Let’s take a look at her, shall we?” said the angel with a tight little smile. 

Anathema looked deeply asleep, and didn’t even stir when Aziraphale touched her hands, then her temples.

Crowley paced the room nervously, eyes going from his friend to the young woman’s face *.

“So?” he finally asked, “Do you see what’s wrong?”

*Subtle healing magic wasn’t Crowley’s thing. Yes, he could breathe life back into a warm body, but revival only required to flood a rather large target with a heavy amount of power to start the engine again. What Aziraphale was doing now was not something a demon should try. Human spirit tended to recoil on instinct to a demon’s touch.

Aziraphale frowned, and finally looked up at Newton. “I think the situation isn’t as dire as it looks. The spell is there, but it did not interact with her. I only need to get rid of it and Anathema will be right as rain.”

Again, he looked down at his hands, each on one side of the witch's head. They started to glow slightly.

Crowley stepped closer, brushing shoulders with his friend, eyes entirely yellow.

“Careful, angel, she’s not like us.”

“I know how fragile a human's psyche _is_ , Crowley,” chided the angel. “I merely need to catch that wayward spell. The little bugger is as slippery as a bar of soap.”

He let out a soft “ah!” as his Grace reached the elusive magic.

“I have it!”

Like a snake caught behind its head, the spell coiled around Aziraphale’s tendril of Grace.

In a heartbeat, the angel’s expression turned from triumph to horror, and he snatched his hand off Anathema’s temples like they’d been burned.

Half muffled, he could hear Crowley’s voice calling, concerned. 

_Oh_ , thought Aziraphale as the strange spell spread along his Grace, invading it like a wildfire.

_FUCK!_

* * *

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale! Wake the fuck up or I swear to Someone I’ll--I’ll rip the covers on your misprinted bibles! You hear me? I’ll do it!”

Aziraphale wanted to sleep a little more. He hadn’t been able to rest in such a long time… but someone was calling his name, and the voice sounded so distressed, he just couldn’t let its owner worry.

Gathering all his willpower, he opened his eyes.

Right in front of him, a concerned face blinked back.

“‘Ziraphale? Are you okay?”

Aziraphale nodded cautiously. “Yes. I rather think I am. So sorry to have bothered you… where are we?”

Yellow eyes squinted at him. “Newt and Anathema’s. Remember? They called us.”

The angel looked around. He was lying on a weird, soft bench, in a stange room. He turned back to the golden eyed angel.

“I am sorry,” he said politely, “but… who are you?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you all think it's going to be another Aziraphale whump, and, well, I won't lie, it kinda is. But it's MOSTLY a Crowley whump. 90% of the angst will be on our poor snek.  
> Happy ending, I promise.  
> I won't promise anything about the chapter count, though...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has to adapt very fast to his angel's state, and realises he needs to call for help.  
> Aziraphale encounters God's newest creation, and is delighted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the feeling it will be a pleasure to write Aziraphale in that one...  
> And yes, he may have forgotten a lot, but he still was Aziraphale all those years ago.  
> He gave his sword BEFORE meeting Crowley.  
> So expect some bastard Aziraphale in future chapters. Just saying ^^

Okay, so this _officially_ wasn’t Crowley’s favourite day.

Aziraphale was lying on the bed in Anathema’s place (thank Someone, the witch had woken up the instant that blessed spell had attacked the angel), and Crowley had been trying to check on him for the last five minutes, his demonic aura reaching out for the alien magic at work somewhere in his friend’s Grace.

Crowley could sense that thrice blessed spell at work, but couldn’t put his metaphorical finger on it.

Then the angel had woken up, and things seemed to get better for a while until it all went to Heaven in a handbasket.

“I am sorry, but… who are you?”

Crowley always had been all for questioning. There’s no stupid questions, he’d told the Them, as long as they’re offered with curiosity and a will to learn.

But this one he could have lived without.

“Oh, fuck,” gasped Anathema from her chair. Aziraphale’s eyes left Crowley to take her in, and Newt next to her, their hands laced on the armrest.

The angel straightened, eyes widening in excitement, and Crowley could have recognized that happy wiggle anywhere.

“Humans!” he exclaimed, turning back to Crowley. “Oh, it’s _humans_! She created them! How long have I been asleep?”

All right, thought Crowley, feeling suddenly very calm*. All right, so no recognizing him, and no recognizing humans either.

*Even a demonic mind could only stand so much stress, and the reasons to freak out were currently too numerous for Crowley’s anxiety circuit-breaker to hold on.

This was… unexpected. Right, unexpected, that was the word. He could deal with that.

_Don’t spook him. Not a big spooky fan, Aziraphale. Doesn’t even remember you. Don’t fuck that up, you stupid noodle._

“Sooooo…” he started, smiling reassuringly instead of following his urge to grab the angel’s shoulders and shake until everything fell back into place in there. “You don’t remember Her creating Humans, right?”

“No, I do not. When was it? Where are we? Is this Earth? Oh, did I miss _Earth_ , too? I was supposed to _guard_ it!”

Aziraphale looked truly crestfallen now, and Crowley hurried to soothe him. “Nonono, you didn't miss it! Principality, you are, Guardian of the Eastern Gate and all that, stellar job you did, really.”

Well, kind of. Better not talk about apples or swords for now.

“Really? Oh, this is _such_ a relief! So we are… guarding over them? Are you a Principality too? I am sorry, I still cannot remember your name.”

 _Ngk!_ Seemed a little of an understatement here, so Crowley let out a long string of letters, not one of them a vowel.

“Yeah, well… yeah, my name… my name is, aaaah...”

The fuck should he say? ‘Crowley’ was anything but angelic, and _“I’m a demon and you should trust me blindly,”_ if true, was maybe not the best thing to say right now.

Oh, fuck! Did Aziraphale even know about _demons_? He hadn’t reacted to his eyes, that was kind of a pretty big clue.

“My name is… Crowlel?” he said tentatively. No way he was going to use his former Pre-Fall appellation.

Most demons were a bunch of sadistic bastard, but even your worst enemy in Hell would never use your old angelic name to hurt you*. There were things that simply weren’t _done_.

*They _would_ use a lot of interesting tools, though.

Aziraphale looked at him in surprise.

No wonder, thought Crowley, what kind of name was _that_? The demon smiled like a mad man, thankful for his corporation’s inability to sweat.

“This is… this is a very nice name,” finally declared Aziraphale in an outburst of diplomacy.

“ _Crowlel_?” asked Newt, drawing both entities’ attention to him. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

“Yes, good idea,” mumbled Anathema, getting up to approach the bed. “I’ll keep Aziraphale company.”

Crowley glared at her. “No need, everything’s fine. Aziraphale had an… accident, and he forgot one or two things. No problem here, everything will be tickety boo very soon.”

“But what kind of accident was that?” wondered the angel.

Bless it all, Aziraphale never had been one for sitting quietly in a corner and leaving others to decide for him. He would be like Dog with a bone. Crowley had to explain as much as possible.

“You were attacked by some kind of magic. There’s a spell in you hiding your last memories.”

Not a lie. Not exactly. ‘Last’ had a pretty wide range. Aziraphale frowned, then sharply turned to stare at Crowley in concern.

“Oh, no! Were you there too? It did not attack you, did it? Are you all right, Crowlel?”

Satan’s sake, of course that bloody idiot would worry for someone else upon hearing this.

“I’m fine, it didn’t touch me. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to heal you. It’s nothing, really. Just a silly little spell. No biggie.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, no, I would hate to have you skip your duties because of my clumsiness. No, I will head back to Heaven and go see the healers. Back in a jiffy, I am sure.”

Crowley gaped. Heaven? No freaking way! But another word registered at the back of his mind.

“Healers… good idea, that, don’t move, I have to… make a call!”

With an imperious glare at his human friends to _watch after the angel and don’t freak him out_ , he got out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, slamming his hands palm to palm like a taller, classier version of Mr. Myiagi about to work his magic on his pupil’s leg muscles.

“Raphael, bring your arse here, it’s an emergency.”

It didn’t take long. Raphael was a wanker, but she knew a situation had to be desperate for Crowley to call on her.

She appeared in front of him with a frown, and looked around warily. “Crowley, I am not supposed to be here. What is happening?” her frown deepened as she realised they were alone. “Where is Aziraphale?”

* * *

Aziraphale was happily chatting with the two first humans. Such interesting, clever creatures! He had imagined them, perhaps, a little more innocent and trusting (they seemed to carefully consider their every word before speaking), but they were just as delightful as he had imagined during the long meetings in the Creation Room.

He _was_ a little bewildered by their skin colour. Not that he didn’t like it, humans would be cute in any form, of course, but She had been adamant about Her preferences for Her first ones, and he wondered what had made Her change her mind.

The door to the room opened and Aziraphale gasped, trying to stand up.

“Raphael!”

“Don’t move,” ordered the Archangel, seeing him fight with the covers. “You’re hurt, I’m here to heal you.”

Aziraphale gaped, then looked at Crowley with something akin to fury. The demon felt a little better seeing that.

“I am fine! I certainly do not need the assistance of an Archangel! I am so sorry Crowlel bothered you, Raphael. Please go back to your duties.”

“Shut up and let me examine you.”

“I really do not think you should...” started the angel.

“Aziraphale, I am an Archangel. Are you really trying to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?”

Crowley hissed under his breath at that. Using his friend’s old trust in Heaven’s chain of command was a low blow. Aziraphale’s fingers tightened on his lap and he didn’t add another word as Raphael started her screening.

After a long moment, she nodded sharply. “I think I can do something. It will take some time, but it’s not too bad. Wait here, I need to talk to… Crowlel.”

With a curt motion of her head, she stalked out of the room. Crowley followed, Anathema on his heels.

“What is the human doing here?” asked Raphael.

“It’s my house, and it’s my spell that hit Aziraphale. I’m not going anywhere.”

The Archangel’s face softened a bit. “You must feel guilty. It was a good spell, but there was no way it would have ended well. Trauma is not something you can magically heal. It’s better not to go that way.”

“Oh, are you talking from experience?” snapped the witch. “Did you at least tried it before?”

Raphael looked at her like she was crazy. “Of course I did.”

Surprised, Anathema hesitated for a second. But, being a confident witch, she regained her footing in a heartbeat. “Then what can we do about Aziraphale?”

“Your spell focussed either on his first traumatic experience or on his worst. It cut the Fall from his memory, and every experience related to it. This means all of his memories after that.”

“But it can be retrieved, right?” asked Crowley, casually leaning against the counter and trying to hide his nerves.

“Yes, it can. I will need a little time. Can you tell me if you think it was about first or worst trauma? That would help me devise a cure.”

The demon made a face. First or worst? Aziraphale, like himself, had lived a lot of awful times, watching over humanity.

“If I had to pick a guess, I would say both. It wasn’t a good day for anyone. It may be the worst for him _because_ it was the first. We didn’t even know what Death meant at the time. Or trust. Or betrayal.”

Raphael sighed. Difficult to argue with such logic. “I will work both ways, then. It may take a few days. I will take good care of him, don’t worry.”

“I beg your _fucking_ pardon?” growled the demon, peeling himself away from the counter.

“He has no memory of Earth, Crowley. Heaven will be a safe place for him while I devise a cure.”

“Heaven tried to _burn_ him!”

“Crowley, I will take care of him--”

“No you won’t! If you need him for your cure, I’ll come with him, but you’re not getting him out of my sight while he’s like this!”

“You can’t come to Heaven, Crowley. Don’t be ridiculous, you’re a demon. I couldn’t assure your safety. And Aziraphale doesn’t even remember you.”

“I don’t give a fuck if he remembers or not, I won’t leave him on his own in his state! You want him there, you have to suffer my presence too, we’re a package deal.”

The Archangel considered his words, then nodded curtly. Crowley relaxed inwardly.

“I do not need his presence at the moment. I will come to you if I need more data. Where do you intend to keep him? The bookshop is in the middle of a town, he would guess Earth is much older than he thinks if he sees it.”

“They will stay here, with us,” declared Anathema, crossing her arms as if to dare Raphael to object. “We can be Adam and Eve for a few days. No way I’ll call my child Cain, though. I’m warning you.”

Crowley’s lips twitched slightly. Raphael turned to him. “You will have to hide your true nature. And act like an angel.”

The demon lifted an eyebrow.

“I can perfectly act like a self-righteous pain in the arse for a few days.”

“I don’t doubt it,” retorted Raphael, starting her ascent back to Heaven. “But this time, try to look like an angel while doing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley pretending to be an angel will be a pleasure to write, ha ha!
> 
> Yes, Aziraphale is convinced Anathema and Newton are Eve and Adam. His last memory takes place right before the Fall. At the time, humans hadn't been created yet, but Aziraphale had already voluntered to become a Principality and watch over them (that explains how enthusiastic he is about meeting Newt and Anathema^^)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale tries to understand what happened to him, and to make sense of the strange world around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have NO IDEA where to place the prompt in this chapter. So I... Kinda not used it?  
> You won't tell, right?  
> I hope you'll like this chapter. It is quite angsty (sorry about that)  
> But I posted a funny Valentine story as a ficlet to make up for it!

Aziraphale looked out the window, taking in the scenery outside. He hadn’t expected the Garden to be this… strange.

Why was it so cold that the humans would need clothes? It didn’t seem that cold to him, especially inside this building, but there certainly had been some kind of design flaw in the poor dears’ conception for them to wear so many garments even under such a mellow temperature.

Next to him, ‘ _Adam’_ cleared his throat. “So, Aziraphale. How about a game while we pass the time?”

The angel turned away from the window, eyeing the human with interest. “A game?”

“ Yes, there’s this game called ‘chess’. You’re very good at it.”

“ Oh! Did you invent it, my dear?”

“ We certainly did,” assured Newt, thinking that this was not really lying. Aziraphale thought he and Anathema were the totality of humanity, and humanity indeed invented chess.

He rapidly arranged the pieces on the board and waved for Aziraphale to take a seat. Anything to stop the angel wondering about… everything.

“ How does it work?” wondered Aziraphale, frowning in concentration as he picked up a bishop.

Newt smiled. Winning a game against the angel was kind of a Herculean task, and he hadn’t been able to succeed very often. This day suddenly looked very promising.

The rules were more complex than Aziraphale had expected at first. Humans truly were bright little creatures. Awfully bright, he thought, watching ‘ _Adam’_ move his queen to win yet another time.

After several games, Crowlel, who had been watching them with a strange intensity, decided it was time for a break. Aziraphale had never seen food before, obviously, but had been very interested in it since the first time the Almighty had mentioned it. It was supposed to help the humans and other creatures sustain themselves in this new world.

Aziraphale had been keen on giving it a try as soon as it would be brought to existence. Apparently, if Crowlel was to be believed, pastries and cocoa were among his favourites.

Consuming hot cocoa was indeed a strange, pleasant experience, he thought absent-mindedly, looking into the steaming mug. Very pleasant. Had the circumstances been different, he could envision himself being quite enraptured.

“ You all right?” asked Crowlel, watching over him with a little crease between his eyebrows.

Aziraphale offered him his warmest smile. The crease only deepened.

“ Absolutely tickety boo, Crowlel. It is just… all so new to me. I am sorry to be such an inconvenience. I am sure you have more pressing matters to attend to than babysitting me.”

“ Don’t be ridiculous,” objected the other angel, “you’re hurt. Helping you is the number one on my list of  _ pressing matters _ .”

Crowlel looked thoughtfully into the distance before adding in a strange, bitter tone “That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Us angels, we take care of our brothers and sisters. You’d do the same for me,” he finished with a shrug.

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly and reached out to touch his hand. “Of course I would, my dear.”

Crowlel offered him a swift, honest smile, then cleared his throat before busying himself with cleaning the food and mugs off the table.

Aziraphale watched him head out, and waited for the door to close to let his face fall into an impassive mask.

Again, he looked towards the chess board.

This wasn’t a  _ design flaw _ . Humans were supposed to stay innocent.

So when did they learn about  _ war _ ?

When did they become so used to it that they created _games_ about it?

Aziraphale had been created a soldier. He knew about the concept of war. Had learned to fight, had taught it too, both waiting for and dreading the day his skills would have to be put to real use.

She had told them war would come someday. That Heaven would be under attack, that their home would need protection.

Aziraphale had wondered, in the secret of his heart, who the enemy would be. Since She was the mother of all things, how come Her home would someday be a target? Who would _dare_ consider Her and Her children a threat?

The board game was burning Aziraphale’s eyes.

_Humans_ knew about war. _Humans_ were wearing clothes, and thought too much before they answered his questions.

Again, he approached the window.

This wasn’t Eden. This looked nothing like Eden should have been.

They had left it. Left the Garden, and learned to kill. It must have happened gradually. Leaving Eden must have been approved by God somehow, for Her own ineffable reasons. He would have to ask Crowlel about it later.

He and Crowlel were Principalities, bound to Earth to watch after it, to protect the humans, to live among them. They probably knew these creatures more than any other angel. If any doubts had taken roots into the humans’ mind, then they were the best placed to realise it.

Crowlel had  _ no  _ idea. That was the worrisome part.  He obviously trusted the two humans, and so did Raphael, one of Heaven’s  _ rulers _ . It was only natural. Humans were supposed to be Her greatest achievement. Her  favourite creatures, the ones to be cherished above any other. No one in Heaven could imagine humanity turning against Her.

He himself had a hard time imagining it. But how come he’d suddenly forgotten about everything since humanity’s creation?

Again, he reached out inside of himself to try and find the magic at work. It didn’t look Heavenly in the slightest. This was Earthbound magic. Powerful, _human_ magic.

“ What have I discovered that would make them use this against me?” he murmured to himself. “What did they want me to  _ forget _ ?”

The conclusion was so obvious, so dreadfully clear.

Humans were planning to attack Heaven. To turn against Her.

Well, not on his watch.

* * *

Aziraphale couldn’t explain his doubts to Crowlel. The poor dear looked so worried, and so willing to help. He also seemed to trust the humans entirely, and this made Aziraphale even more angry with the two creatures.

No, Crowlel would never believe him,  w ould think the spell was messing up with Aziraphale’s mind. The golden-eyed Principality looked so  _ trusting _ . Like any angel should be, of course. Making him realise the truth would be heartbreaking, and Aziraphale couldn’t bear the idea of it.

But he couldn’t abandon Crowlel here either, unaware of the danger. If there was one thing Aziraphale had always insisted on while training his platoon, it was that angels always protected one another. He would save his brother, and save Heaven.

Principality or not, he would not let his charges hurt anyone.

Thankfully, there were only two humans. Whatever magic at their disposal, they couldn’t believe they would win against Heaven and its troops under the present circumstances. They needed to multiply for that, first.

Aziraphale had no idea how fast they were supposed to do that, but that process had to take at least some time. Enough time to investigate, and report his discoveries.

He looked away from the window when the door opened again. Crowlel was standing there, seeming a little tense.

“Soooo, ah… we’re going to be stranded here for a few days. In case Raphael needs to see you, you know. So I guess you need to be introduced to the baby.”

“Baby?” repeated Aziraphale. “What is the baby?”

Crowlel mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nah, nothing. A baby is a tiny human. You’ll like her.”

Aziraphale didn’t need a functioning heart, but he felt the blood drain from his face all the same. “Have the humans reproduced already?”

Crowlel looked torned. “Nnnng… eeeeh… y—yeaaah.”

“How many? How many of these babies do they have?” pressed Aziraphale.

The golden-eyed angel blinked, confused. “Ah. One.”

“ Oh,  _ thank the Lord _ ! I was afraid it would be hundreds!”

Crowlel barked out a laughter. “Hundreds! Oh, Sat—Someone, no! One is enough work already! Two, three sometimes, yeah, but  _ hundreds _ !”

A particular sort of silence settled over the room. Crowlel stopped laughing, eyeing Aziraphale warily.

“ What do you mean,  _ sometimes _ ?” asked the angel with rising dread.

Crowlel’s eyes widened. That was fear, Aziraphale realised. His fellow angel was afraid.

“What are you hiding from me? How many of those babies did the humans already have? How much did I forget, Crowlel?”

Crowlel rapidly crossed the room, and gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Aziraphale, I need you to _trust_ me, okay? _Please_ let me explain first?”

He looked both serious and terrified now. That did nothing to ease Aziraphale’s nerves. But if there was one thing he was certain of, it was Crowlel’s sincerity.

“All right. Explain.”

Crowlel let out a breath, and took a step back. “Right. Okay. So, you see… when you woke up, you… kinda assumed Earth and all that stuff just had been created, but… ahhhhh, you _maybe_ forgot a liiiiiitle bit more than that?”

“Oh, dear,” whispered Aziraphale.

“Yeah, don’t worry, okay? It’s just… a lot to explain, and I don’t want you to freak out, and… it’s probably for the best if we stay here and wait for Raphael to--.”

“How long?” cut Aziraphale.

Crowlel blinked. “Whot?”

“How long after Creation? How old are Adam and Eve?”

Crowlel’s grimace was enough of an answer. Aziraphale sat down on the bed like in a dream.

“How could I have been so _stupid_? Of course they are not _Adam and Eve_. That explains the game, and the—the building. How many humans _are_ there, Crowlel?”

“You’re going to freak out,” muttered Crowlel, looking away.

“I will not,” promised Aziraphale.

Crowlel told him.

Aziraphale _did_ freak out.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, it doesnt look good, right?  
> Oh, but don't worry, it will get worse^^  
> But then it'll get better!!!!!  
> Next chapter will be featuring one of our old friends.  
> You are so going to hate me^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is thinking of Heaven, and counting the days until he would be allowed to take his place back.  
> But Heaven's former leader still has friends in high places, friends that listen, and learn interesting bits of gossip.  
> And sometimes, if the information seems interesting enough, these friends send Gabriel a little note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, the chapter count changed again, but it's the last time! I know where the two next are going, now^^  
> Hope you'll enjoy the PURE ANGST!  
> Tomorrow will be... better.  
> And last chapter will be soft and fluffy. You know me :)

Gabriel was resting in the small lodging his human employer had provided.

As every day, he was lying on the bed and thinking how very unfair this all was, mentally preparing himself to absorb gross matter in order to help his corporation survive. He grimaced in disgust at the thought. Ingesting human food wasn’t even the worst. No, there was the excess to _expel_.

Forty-four months more, and he would get his powers and status back.

Unless… unless She deemed five years insufficient. Gabriel closed his eyes, his throat constricting. He knew Her. Knew Her more than _any_ other angel. Except of course Metatron. And maybe Raphael (that disgusting teacher’s pet).

And if there was one thing She always insisted upon, it was the value of _forgiveness_.

She had punished them for trying to destroy Aziraphale. And, yes, all right, maybe they had gotten a _little_ carried away with the Principality, but he had—no, no going there. If She had protected him, then they’d been wrong.

If only Aziraphale had forgiven them, none of this would have happened. If that _stupi_ —no, no going there either. If that _resentful_ angel could only give his pardon for the… slight misunderstanding with Hellfire, then all would be good again. For _everyone_. Raphael was certainly the worst leader Heaven could think of.

Aziraphale was an angel full of good intentions. An embarrassment, most of the time, but the Principality was willing to do his best, and even if his best wasn’t much, he was _trying_ . He would have forgiven in a heartbeat hadn’t it been for that _demon_.

Gabriel sat up brusquely with an irritated huff. There was no need to keep thinking about it. Aziraphale would never listen to reason, not after hundreds of years of demonic corruption. She had been right to punish him and the other Archangels. They should have watched their Principality more closely, should have realized a weak mind like Aziraphale’s would bend easily against a demon’s manipulations.

A whirlwind of Grace had the Archangel gasp in shock, and he looked at the letter appearing on his knees with huge eyes. With slow motions, he opened it. The first sentence had him smile smugly. Some angels remembered who Heaven’s leader _was_.

For a long moment, Gabriel stared at the golden handwriting in stupefied awe. Then a slow smile spread on his face.

Maybe this was a Sign. A chance to redeem himself. To _save_ Aziraphale, and with him, his position as Heaven’s leader.

She was offering him an opportunity to fix it all.

For the greater good.

* * *

Crowley sat on one of Anathema’s kitchen chair, left leg bouncing restlessly as he watched the angel like a hawk.

This was _bad_ . This was really real _bad_. Aziraphale should have reacted differently after hearing that he had lost six thousand year’s worth of memories.

Okay, telling him _that_ wasn’t necessarily the best idea, but what was a demon supposed to do when asked directly? Lie to his best friend? For something _this_ important? It felt primordial not to. Not when Aziraphale was so… fragile. Him not remembering the trust he had put in Crowley for so many centuries didn’t make the breaking of said trust acceptable.

In fact, it made it even more sacred. He wouldn’t lie. Not now. But he needed to hide _so many_ things! The Fall, the fact that he, _Crowlel_ , was a demon (Someone, how to explain _that_ ?), the fact that Aziraphale didn’t belong to Heaven anymore… (It would _kill him_ . It would absolutely _kill him_ to learn about that without the memories of how he got there).

How to explain him they had willingly stopped Armageddon? Did Aziraphale even know about Armageddon? Probably not. Crowley was fairly sure the final battle had been debated _after_ the Fall.

If the angel decided to start asking questions, Crowley was doomed.

But he wasn’t asking. Which was, in some ironic kind of way, _worse._

Aziraphale had walked to the living room, barely looking around, and had accepted the armchair offered by Newt. Now he was… sitting straight, staring into the distance, hands folded on his lap and a polite little smile on his face.

Crowley knew that expression. This was the “I am currently doing my best to appear harmless and oblivious, but I am in fact devising a strategy” expression. He was usually on the other side of it, waiting for his friend to finish connecting the dots and give him a hint of what the next move should be.

In an imminent life or death situation, Crowley was the brain of the two. The angel was not good at ‘drop of a hat’ decisions, or if he was, it was _dangerous_ decisions, like giving his sword, or defecting in front of his whole platoon, five minutes before the battle. Surviving was not his thing, and when it came to that, he always turned to Crowley’s expertise.

But when things were uncertain and needed consideration, then Aziraphale had a mind that even Da Vinci would have envied.

Seeing that face, and knowing Aziraphale had put it up to deceive _him_ , Crowley, his fucking _best friend_ in all fucking _eternity_ , was making the demon both seething with rage and awfully sad.

Because his angel was alone. Alone against everyone, or at least thinking he was, and Crowley had promised he would always be on Aziraphale’s side, on _their own side_.

And today, he was not.

Who cared about the reason, or the excuses?

Aziraphale was _alone_ , and this was not to be borne.

Anathema was in Fyre’s room (they had decided that maybe, now wasn’t the time to introduce the baby), and Newt was anxiously cooking something, making a huge mess of the kitchen, which was great, because Crowley’s hands were itching for something to _clean._

Maybe he should talk. Say something, _anything_. Preferably before Aziraphale stopped thinking, because Crowley did _not_ want to discover the result of this particular bout of brainstorming.

There was a knock at the door. Every eyes turned to it, angel included. Newt didn’t even have time to walk to the entryway that the door opened, and Crowley got up so fast the chair tumbled to the floor.

“Gabriel!” gasped Aziraphale, with such a relief Crowley felt like stabbed in the chest.

“Aziraphale! Thank God I am here on time!” exclaimed the Archangel in his booming voice, concern and care inscribed on every line of his face. “I am here to save you, brother!”

“Save me?” repeated the angel, blinking.

“ _Brother?”_ growled Crowley under his breath, trying to fight the fangs growing in his mouth.

“Yes, save you! You have been dreadfully deluded, Aziraphale! I have learnt that you have lost your memory, certainly by the hand of this demon,” he added, shooting Crowley a look so full of contempt it could have won a _Disney’s best evil stepmother glare_ contest.

Aziraphale blinked again, frowning. “Demon?”

 _Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit!_ Thought Crowley, frozen on the spot.

“Yes, Aziraphale. He is an enemy. An enemy of Heaven! Of God Herself! He rejected Her, and rebelled against Her, he and all of his friends.”

Gabriel’s voice was soft and syrupy, and Crowley wanted to rip his throat.

“Reject Her? No, that is… impossible. Crowlel is an _angel_ , Gabriel!” cried Aziraphale.

Gabriel laughed. “Crowlel? Is that what he told you? His name is Crawly, and he _was_ an angel, a long time ago, but not anymore. He is the _opposite_ of everything that is good and pure. Like all the others. And She punished them all for it, created a place below all else for them to rot. They are our enemies, Aziraphale. Our duty is to destroy them.”

He took a step forward, toward Aziraphale, and Crowley hissed, trembling with rage.

Gabriel reached out, hand open. “Come with me, Aziraphale. I will bring you back to Heaven, where you belong.”

Crowley _pounced_.

He had done his very best at restraining himself so far, but keeping so much wrath, loathing and _pure fury_ at bay was a difficult endeavour, especially for a demon, to whom letting go of such feelings was a good and natural thing.

Gabriel trying to _touch_ Aziraphale, trying to bring him _back to freaking Heaven_ was the last straw.

In his mind, the Archangel’s voice was echoing, the words _Shut your stupid mouth and die already_ coming over and over on a short loop.

He acted on instinct, jumping in front of his friend and slapping the Archangel’s hand away, wings outstretched to hide Aziraphale from the enemy, claws ready to rip--

A soft gasp behind his back brought him back to himself.

Gabriel smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pleaaaaaase don't hate me.  
> It will get better, I promise. Perhaps not RIGHT NOW, but very soon.  
> Things will start to look up at the end of next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is now aware of Crowley's true nature. Gabriel is here, to SAVE him...  
> How will our angel react?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I missed yesterday's update!! I will try to catch up today, but if I can't, I will do it on saturday!  
> 28 posts in 28 days. I will do it!   
> Today's chapter will probably make some of you yell at me?  
> I fear and hope so^^

For a moment, Crowley wondered if he’d frozen time without noticing it. Everything was still, the universe holding its breath. Then Aziraphale spoke, voice sharp.

“Why are you wings  _ black _ , Crowlel?”

Crowley couldn’t turn around. He had to keep an eye on Gabriel, and that was the only reason he couldn’t  _ turn around _ . He wasn’t afraid of what he would see on his angel’s face. Not at all.

The Archangel answered the question in his stead. “All Fallen’s wings turn to black. This is how we know they aren’t angels anymore. That, and the rest of their appearance. How could you not notice those disgusting  _ eyes _ , Aziraphale?”

Crowley cringed inwardly. He would definitely not look at his friend  _ now _ .

“Is it true?” asked Aziraphale. Crowley held his breath.

“Crowlel,” insisted the angel. “Are you one of those... demons? Have you been rejected from Heaven? Did She disown you?”

_ Daaaaaaamn _ , that bastard didn’t soften his blows. Crowley braced himself and took a few steps back to be able to still watch Gabriel while turning to his angel.

He didn’t like what he saw at all. There was no emotion to be read on Aziraphale’s countenance, which meant there were a great many things happening on the inside.

“It’s true,” he admitted. “All is true, except for the deceiving. You know who I am, I never lied to you. You just… forgot about it.”

Aziraphale huffed. “How convenient,” he said wryly.

Gabriel’s smile widened. “I always knew you were cleverer than you let out, Aziraphale! Now let us get back to Heaven, and—”

“One more question,” cut Aziraphale. Gabriel stopped mid-sentence, making the face of an Important Person not used to being interrupted.

“What more do you want to ask him?” Gabriel chuckled, gesturing towards Crowley. “He already admitted who he really was!”

Aziraphale tilted his head, and Crowley instantly identified that steely glint in his eyes. A wave of pride hit him, mingled with no small amount of relief. His friend had been a dutiful angel, but  _ never _ a fool. The Principality’s next sentence was no surprise to him.

“Would you be so kind as to show me your wings, Gabriel?”

“I beg your pardon?” snapped the Archangel, squinting his eyes. “Why would you want to see  _ my  _ wings?”

Aziraphale looked at him innocently. “You just said demons had black wings, and were former angels. How can I know you aren’t one of them? It only seems logical to ask for a guarantee.”

Gabriel huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Aziraphale. I am an Archangel!”

Crowley tried very hard not to laugh. Six thousand years being the angel’s boss, and still that wanker didn’t know him  _ at all _ ! He understood Gabriel’s position, though. At the moment, and for the next three years, he was deprived of his powers.

Which meant he couldn’t manifest his ethereal body.  _ Wings included _ .

“Are you telling me,” asked Aziraphale politely, “that no Archangel has suffered that…  _ Fall  _ you were talking about?”

“Three of them did,” said Crowley, always ready to be helpful when it could bring more trouble. “Didn’t they, Gabe?”

Gabriel reddened, clearly gritting his teeth. “Yes. Half of the Host, including three Archangels, have Fallen. But I am obviously not one of them.”

“Can you show me your wings, then?”

Gabriel straightened his back, gathering his best commanding attitude “I certainly won’t! How dare you doubt me, Heaven’s  _ leader _ !”

_ Bad move, buddy _ , thought Crowley. Aziraphale didn’t often ask dangerous questions, but when he did, trying to push and manipulate him was the worst idea in the world.

He saw his friend squint his eyes defiantly. “I will not make the same mistake twice and trust you blindly Gabriel.”

Crowley grimaced. He knew Gabriel’s failed attempt didn’t mean he was out of the woods. But at least Aziraphale wasn’t about to be used by an enemy. Gabriel, as expected, didn’t admit his defeat.

“Aziraphale, I order you to drop this seditious behaviour  _ this instant _ and obey my commands!”

“No,” said a voice that surprised everyone. Newt walked to the door, his face so full of wrath Crowley felt begrudgingly envious. “You will get out of our house and leave Aziraphale alone! You aren’t welcome here!”

Anathema was standing in front of Fyre’s room, a long bread knife in hand, and looked almost as fierce as her husband. But as Crowley had learnt a long time ago, no one could be more intimidating than a nice and calm person when their patience snapped, and Newt’s anger was  _ terrifying _ .

Gabriel turned to Newton, looking at him like one looked at a dog that had just done its business on an afghan carpet. He raised his hand, clearly forgetting that he didn’t have any powers at the moment. Aziraphale, having forgotten about it too, slid between Newt and the Archangel, unfolding his wings.

Gabriel looked at him, lowered his hand, and spoke with the same scornful voice he’d used at the airbase and during Aziraphale’s “trial” in Heaven. “You know what, Aziraphale? I think you’re not worth saving. You want to stay here alone, away from your brethren and with no idea how to survive in this strange world? Fine! I bet that’s what She wanted for you anyway!”

He turned on his heels and stomped towards the taxi parked on the street behind the Bentley and obviously waiting for him. The driver folded his newspaper as he saw his client open the door. “Coachman! Back to London!”

Crowley wanted very much to strangle Gabriel before he left, but he had a very pressing problem to take care of.

Slowly, he raised his hands to show he wasn’t a threat, forcing away his devilish features, black scales and claws disappearing in a few heartbeats.

Aziraphale, wings still deployed in a fighting stance, turned sharply to him.

Crowley spoke in his most calming voice. “Aziraphale… I know you must feel lost, but  _ please _ , don’t do anything rash. I can explain.”

Aziraphale looked him in the eyes, then slowly lowered his wings. Crowley smiled tentatively.

The angel raised his hand and snapped.

For a second, Crowley, Newt and Anathema stared at the empty space Aziraphale had left in his wake.

“Oh… fuck.” whispered Newt, speaking for all of them.

“Crowley! Can you sense where he is?”

The demon shook his head. He was trying his best to pinpoint the familiar Grace, but didn’t expect to find it. Of course Aziraphale had shut him out and hid his presence. He couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from that empty place in front of him.

He was having a  _ moment _ .

“Get a grip, Crowley!” yelled Anathema, rushing to grab her coat. “Newt, I’ll take the car and pick up Adam, maybe he could--”

“ _ Car! _ ” barked Crowley, making both humans jump. “The Bentley will be able to find him! She always knows where he is!”

“What? Why?” asked Newton, handing Anathema her theodolite*.

*A theodolite was one of the two tools a good witch never left home without. And Anathema already had the bread knife.

“I don’t know, they have this weird, disgusting symbiotic relationship,” grumbled Crowley, snatching the Bentley’s keys out of his pocket.

Anathema and Newt exchanged a look that spoke about pots and kettles.

“Come on, let’s find him, then,” said Crowley, stepping out decidedly. He stopped dead after a few strides, and Anathema almost bumped into him.

“What? What’s happening?” asked the witch, looking over his shoulder.

The street was empty.

* * *

Aziraphale had transported himself into the forest, only two miles away. He could have gone anywhere on Earth, but using too much Grace wasn’t a good move in such a situation, and Crowlel… or Crawly, as Gabriel had called him, would probably not look for him right under his nose.

He needed a secluded, quiet place to  _ think _ .

So the war had happened already. And the enemy had been… their own siblings.

Of all the things Aziraphale could have imagined, this was the worst. Had he killed? Had he destroyed angels?

He pushed the thought away. Not now. He needed to focus on the current situation.

What did he know? Humans weren’t enemies, since the enemies already existed. But the spell acting on him was human. Crowlel (Crawly?) was not an angel.

Gabriel had said Crow-Crawly was an enemy, but…

It just didn’t make sense. Why hadn’t the demon lied to him? Why not take advantage of his state when he could have?

More importantly: why had he stepped that way in front of Aziraphale? Wings didn’t lie. Crowlel had been protecting him. Shielding him from Gabriel, focused entirely on the Archangel. Baring his back to Aziraphale.

He could have attacked Crowlel, maybe even destroyed him. Why would a demon, an  _ enemy _ , trust him with his life? The best explanation would be that Aziraphale was one of these Fallen himself, but he had checked his wings. Several times. Just to be sure.

He looked over his shoulder again, and felt the same pang of relief.

This didn’t make any sense. How could he even know who to believe? Raphael had been talking to Crowlel too, was  _ she  _ still an angel? Was she really trying to heal him?

He closed his eyes, and turned to the only being he could trust without a doubt.

_ Almighty, I know it is awfully presumptuous of me to ask for guidance, when you have so many important matters to attend to, but I could use some help at the moment. Would it be possible for you to… send me a sign? if that is not too much of an imposition, of course… _

He opened his eyes again, and looked around gingerly. The forest stared back, unchanged. Aziraphale let out a breath, half-sigh, half-chuckle. Of course She wouldn’t answer, She had a whole universe to take care of. How very rude of him to trouble Her with his little predicament.

Somewhere, not very far, a strange sound resounded. Aziraphale blinked. It seemed like…

_ Something is calling me. _

He didn’t recognise that aura. This wasn’t human, angelic, or anything in between. This was new, but… but as he reached out to it, he knew he could  _ trust  _ it, whatever it was.

He started to walk towards it like in a dream, hit by waves of feelings that felt, for some reason, strange and familiar at the same time.

The aura felt pure, and gentle, and concerned.

Concerned for  _ him _ .

He stepped into a little clearing, and blinked again, taking in the shining, black, metallic… being.

Love poured out of it, sheer, unconditional love.

“Oh, hello, you,” he murmured, touching the cold steel.

Bentley purred, opening her passenger door.

Without any hesitation, Aziraphale stepped in. He had no idea who he was, or where he should go. But this being did.

“Lead the way, my dear.”

Smoothly, Bentley started to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our knight in (black) shining armor is here, everyone!!!!  
> Everything will get better from now on :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bentley knows what to do...  
> She just need to "call" a friend, and lead her angel to a safe place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, the chapter count changed again...  
> 

Crowley didn’t really have time to process the loss of his car. His brain was still in the middle of processing Aziraphale’s escape and didn’t have space for much more. The sound of wheels had him turn to the right, towards lower Tadfield.

Four very small bikers (and a Dog) were approaching rapidly, and stopped around him* with more or less controlled skids.

*And, in Brian’s case, _into_ him.

“Uncle Crowley!” panted Adam. “I have a message for you!”

Crowley snapped his fingers to repair Brian’s torn sleeve and fixed his godson with huge, hopeful eyes. “Is it Aziraphale? Did you see him?”

The Antichrist shook his head. “No, it’s Bentley. She wants you to go home. What is happening with uncle Z? Is he okay? Do I need to call Beelzebub?”

Adam was a responsible, serious kid, and wouldn’t use his powers if he could do without, but if the Lord of the Flies had broken their promise and hurt his favourite angel again, there would be _consequences_.

“My car? You saw her? Where is she? At your home?” asked the demon, frowning heavily.

“No, she just reached out. You know. Asked me to tell you you needed to go home now.”

Crowley mumbled under his breath, and Brian caught something about _cars willing to chat with everyone but their own fathers_. The boy shrugged. Fathers were weird.

“Where is uncle Z?” insisted Adam.

“Yes, why are you all _weird_?” added Pepper, who had never seen the demon this anxious before, which was quite a feat considering Crowley’s propension to dramatize.

“He’s… he’s fine. Got hit by a spell, but Raphael says she can undo it. I have to go to the bookshop. She’s bringing him back, I think.”

Adam nodded, like Crowley’s ramblings were making perfect sense. “She doesn’t want me to come with. Only you. She was pretty insistent.”

Crowley straightened, looking away with a pout to hide his satisfaction. Adam may be his baby girl’s _friend_ , but she obviously only trusted her father to take care of Aziraphale.

_Good girl._

“You’ll call me? When you get home?” asked Adam, trying to look as cool and collected as his demonic uncle and failing spectacularly (just like his demonic uncle).

“Course. Everything will be fine, don’t worry.”

With a last round of hair ruffling (except Pepper, who would probably bite his arm off), and a quick goodbye to Anathema and Newt, Crowley vanished.

* * *

Waiting for his car to arrive was a real nightmare. Crowley paced the back room and front room carpets enough to leave footprints on them, and had sent three strongly worded notes to Raphael, using Aziraphale’s usual mail channel.

No answer for the moment, which was a good thing, he decided. Raphael was probably too busy finding a cure for Aziraphale to answer her mails.

He sat down, then sprang back to his feet in the following second, unable to stop the questions from popping into his mind.

What if Aziraphale ran away the moment he saw him waiting? What if he attacked him? What if he’d finally decided to listen to Gabriel and was heading to Heaven’s Headquarters?

Nah, Bentley wouldn’t drive him there.

How could he prove to his friend that he was someone he could trust?

The familiar roar outside had him startle and hurry to the window. Bentley was there, parked illegally right in front of the bookshop.

Aziraphale stepped out gingerly, eyes huge as he looked around. It was kind of the first time he discovered a city, Crowley realised.

Then his friend turned to the shop, and met his eyes. Crowley held his breath.

The angel tilted his head, fiddled with his golden ring, then walked to the door and pushed it.

They stared at each other for a few moments, then Aziraphale sighed.

“Hello… Crawly?”

The demon grimaced. “It’s Crowley, actually.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. “It… does sound more fitting than Crawly. Or Crowlel, to be perfectly honest.”

Crowley showed his hands (what fit of them) in his pockets and shrugged, fighting the urge to preen.

It _was_ a pretty good name. 

“Errrr… do you--do you have questions? Or something? Do you want me to, I don’t know, stay in a trapping circle that binds my powers or something? Cause I can do that, if it makes you feel better.”

Aziraphale gasped. “Trapping circle? Is there such a thing? How _awful_!”

Crowley shrugged again. “‘S not that bad. I know you wouldn’t use it against me.”

The angel raised a stern hand. “ _Out of the question!_ No, I think we are perfectly able to wait companionably until Raphael comes back. I mean… if you think Raphael will come back. Is she a demon too?”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Raphael? Fallen? Nah, not her. But…”

He hesitated, tapping his fingers against a shelf. “Why… why are you acting like you trust me?”

Aziraphale smiled tentatively, and waved towards the window, in Bentley’s general direction. “This lovely creature made me understand that you were not my enemy.” he looked down at his hands, then took a deep breath and added “And this place… this place feels like it is mine. It has obviously been infused with my Grace for a long time. I can also sense your imprint over it. You have spent a long time within these walls, and it can only mean that I trusted you before… all this. You belong here.”

“Well, it’s my home too”, mumbled Crowley, pushing his glasses firmly against his face, “Gave me a bloody key, I’ll have you know. Half the ownership, even. I have the papers.”

“I am certain you do,” said the angel softly.

They both stood awkwardly, and Crowley was seriously starting to consider teaching his friend how to get wasted all over again, when Aziraphale spoke up.

“What do I usually do to pass the time?”

Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “ _Holy fuck_ , you forgot everything,” he murmured reverently.

“I thought we had covered that bit of information already,” said the angel sourly.

“No, I mean… you don’t remember _books_. You don’t--” Crowley held a finger up in the universal gesture of “Wait a minute”.

“Just… just sit down. No, not _here_ , this one, that’s your seat. And I’ll… I’ll just start with your favourites, okay?”

He disappeared around a corner as Aziraphale sat gingerly on an armchair, listening to mumbles of “Where the Heaven did he hide bloody Austen this week? I need a Pratchett too… not Tolstoy, too gloomy... Asimov… Shipton… not _you_ Oscar, stay in your corner, you smug wanker… oh, Epic of Gilgamesh!! He loves that one...”

Aziraphale, watching the demon wander along the shelves, picking up dusty book after dusty book with the single-minded focus of a man on life or death mission, felt that _maybe_ , She had answered his prayer after all.

* * *

It had been three days and Crowley was about to explode.

Demons didn’t cry. When you took a swan dive right into a pit of sulphur with thousands of your brothers and sisters, all as hurt and furious as you, you didn’t have time to feel sorry for yourself. Not if you wanted to live.

He knew Aziraphale was trying to reassure him. The angel was trying _so_ hard, offering his help every time Crowley started to do something. _Anything_. Even fluffing a pillow seemed to summon an anxious angel, ready to do it himself.

It was awful to watch. Crowley understood, of course he did. Aziraphale was scared, who wouldn’t in this situation? And now that he’d understood Crowley was his friend, his family even, now that he could see how intertwined their lives were*, he was feeling like a fraud. Like he had to do something to make up for Crowley’s loss.

 _Trying to comfort_ me _. Typical_.

*Both of their Graces were _everywhere_ in the bookshop. It was the ethereal equivalent of family pictures, cable bills to both their names, and grandchildren’s drawings all over the house.

There had been NO new from Raphael and it was starting to get on Crowley's nerves (or what was left of them). He _couldn’t_ stop to think about the consequences if Raphael were unable to fix this. There was no time for that. Whatever happened, Crowley would find a solution, and get his angel back, and then, _maybe_ , he’d lock himself into his flat to have an existential crisis far away from prying eyes. The timid clearing of a throat had him turn away from the shelf he was dusting for the third time in the last hour to look at Aziraphale.

“Yes?”

The angel smiled hesitantly and held out the mug. “I have made tea.”

Crowley looked down, his face inscrutable. He took the mug with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Thanks, an--Aziraphale.”

The angel beamed back. “You are very welcome. Do tell me if I can help, please.”

“Will do,” mumbled Crowley, pretending to take a sip while Aziraphale walked away.

He looked at the mug again. It wasn’t his, the one with the little dent on the rim that made it unique. And _green tea_? Crowley was more of a coffee person, but he’d been known to enjoy a cup of hot leaves.

Not green, though. Way too sour to his taste.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed angrily, putting the mug down carefully.

Demons didn’t cry. They’d rather get angry.

Crowley felt really, really angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comfort and fluff in a few hours everyone!  
> Then I will tell you about next story, he he he^^


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt takes a drastic decision, and Raphael finally shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have so good news, and some bad news...  
> Bad news is that last chapter got so long I had to cut it in half and ADD ANOTHER CHAPTER!!  
> You can curse me, I'm a chapter count fraud, I know it...^^
> 
> Good news is last chapter is written already and will be posted shortly.  
> I'm waiting for the day to change, so it will count as the 21th post in 21 days^^  
> It's 11pm here, so you won't have to wait long :)

On the eighth day, Newt finally lost patience as he received another short text in answer to a failed phone call*. Obviously, Crowley didn’t want to talk, and that wasn’t a surprise to Newt. He understood the demon’s reluctance at letting anyone near Aziraphale until the spell was lifted, but the angel was his friend _too_ , and Raphael had said “a few days”. It was taking too much time.

*Technically, it was Anathema’s phone. But the witch was busy and Newt needed to know what was happening in London.

And Newt had someone to protect too.

He looked at his wife, sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop, surrounded by books and sheets covered in notes. She was talking threateningly to someone, and Newt didn’t need to see the screen to know it was his mother-in-law. He wisely decided not to intervene. It was a miracle already that Anathema wasn’t yelling. Her relations with her mother had been _difficult_ , to say the least, since their wedding.

Anathema was a mess. Each day she seemed more and more wild, and Newt had woken up in the middle of the night to find her awake _again_ , typing strange words that weren’t english, or any other language Newt could think of, in her search box.

He knew she was feeling guilty, and the feeling was only exacerbated by the fact that Aziraphale had been the victim of her mistake. Anathema and the angel had always been close since Armageddon, but after Fyre’s birth, that bond had only deepened, and Newt knew his wife considered Aziraphale as one would a very close sibling.

He looked at the text conversation with Crowley. In the last four days, all they had received from the demon were five different versions of “Everything is fine,” which was not reassuring in the slightest when you knew Crowley’s love of rhetoric.

In his hand, the phone died out with a faint sizzle. Newt glared at it for a minute, then headed out to the bedroom to retrieve a new one from the wardrobe and switch the sim-card.

With a sharp nod, he dropped the device in a suitcase, and started to pick up clothes for him and his wife at random. Anathema had created that damned spell, and he had every confidence she could undo it. She may be Aziraphale’s best shot.

And she needed to do something about the guilt eating at her.

He carried the suitcase into Fyre’s room, and smiled at his daughter, standing in her cot, both hands gripping the bars tightly.

“Hello, pet. How you doing? Slept well?”

She let out a little cry of joy and slapped one hand on the edge of the cot as hard as she could, losing her balance and falling on her bum. Newt couldn’t repress a smile at her outraged expression.

“It’s all right, legs are tricky. You’ll master them in no time,” he assured, reaching out, and feeling the usual overwhelming fierce love at seeing her reach back eagerly.

Packing a suitcase with a baby in one’s arms wasn’t an easy task, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“We’re going to London, love. Your uncle Aziraphale needs us.”

Fyre gurgled enthusiastically.

* * *

“We’re closed!” yelled Crowley at the door.

The knocking didn’t stop, turning into an insistent pounding. The demon sprang to his feet with a growl, and stomped to the door, opening it wildly.

“I said we’re--”

“Hello, Crowley,” greeted Newt with a smile.

Anathema sent the demon a wary look. “Can we come in?”

Crowley opened his mouth, and no one, not even him, had the slightest idea of what his answer would be.

Fortunately, they didn’t find out. Aziraphale called from the backroom’s entrance. “Oh! You are Crowley’s human friends! Come on in!”

Anathema entered eagerly, and stopped in front of the angel with a frown. “We are your friends too, Aziraphale.”

He smiled nervously. “Ah, yes. I am very grateful for it... Can I offer you something? A cup of coffee maybe?”

“Aziraphale,” started the witch, before taking a deep breath in, “I am sorry for what happened to you. I don’t know if Crowley told you, but this is all my fault.”

The angel looked down, fingers brushing the hem of his waistcoat. “Ah, yes… he told me. But it was an accident, nothing to apologize for, I am sure.”

Newton looked at his wife and friend, both fidgeting in their own ways, the tension in the room rising with every second. He squared his shoulders and walked past Crowley, his secret weapon tucked safely against his chest.

Aziraphale looked up at the last second.

“Here, take this,” said Newton, handing him the sleeping baby.

When handed something with no notice, your body tends to react on instinct. Aziraphale found himself with an armful of Fyre without even realising it.

Newt stayed close, just in case. Not that he was worried, but you never know, after all. Maybe the angel had forgotten how to hold a baby too.

Aziraphale looked down in surprise, and was met with a sleepy face and a huge yawn. Fyre blinked, rubbed her eyes with a fist and looked back at her angelic uncle.

Her face lit up instantly, and she beamed, letting out the chirping sound she always used as a greeting.

The angel stayed stunned, eyes widening as he took in the small being in his arms.

For a minute, no one talked, everyone looking at Aziraphale with trepidation.

“Is… is he okay?” whispered Anathema finally .

The angel’s wings burst into existence, folding around himself and the baby in an embrace.

He spoke in a soft and terrible voice. “I shall _destroy_ any being trying to hurt you.”

“He’s fine,” drawled Crowley, leaning against the desk with a smirk. It was a small one, but it was heartfelt. For the first time in days, Crowley felt happy.

 _Everything is going to be fine_ , he thought.

As Newt patted his back before heading to the stairs, he realised that he believed it.

* * *

Anathema hadn’t been lying when she’d said she was responsible. It was _her_ fault, and it being an accident didn’t change a thing about the outcome, she thought. _Her_ mess, for _her_ to fix.   
  


Being a witch, and an American witch at that, she didn’t stop for small talk and headed directly to the backroom’s forbidden shelves to peruse them in search of a solution.

Newton, being English and a witch’s husband, made coffee for Crowley and tea for Aziraphale, and diverted the demon’s attention every time he started to glower a little too hard at Anathema (usually when she touched a book with anything less than reverence, which happened a lot).

Aziraphale was entirely focused on Fyre, cooing at her and walking around the shop, following her stern orders, given with a tug on his collar and a pointed finger followed by a soft “Dah!” to go inspect an interesting object.

For a few hours, a warm and contended feeling filled the bookshop.

Then Raphael appeared in a rush of swirling Grace, and found herself slammed to the nearest bookshelf.

“Where the **flames** were you?” yelled Crowley. “You said a few days! You never answered my messages! Did you find it?”

The last sentence wasn’t delivered as harshly as the others. Raphael diplomatically ignored the edge of fear in the demon’s voice.

“I couldn’t answer. You told me Gabriel knew about Aziraphale’s condition. I only discussed it with two other healers. People I trust entirely,” she added at Crowley’s hiss. “It means someone was reading the notes I sent them and shared the information with Gabriel. Who has been punished, and shouldn’t be informed of anything happening in Heaven.”

Crowley released her, annoyed at her serene expression. Aziraphale didn’t fear being manhandled because he trusted his friend. But Raphael wasn’t a close acquaintance. She should _at least_ appear wary. It was only polite.

He let out a harsh chuckle “So there’s a mole in Heaven? I’m not surprised. Michael worked hand-in-hand with Hell; staying in touch with Gabriel is _nothing_ next to that.”

Raphael’s eyes glowed. “It was Her will to banish Gabriel for five years, and for him to live a human life during that time as penance. For an angel to contact him is to put Gabriel’s authority above Hers.”

“Well, we can’t have _that_ , can we,” scoffed Crowley. “They’re _completely_ different after all. One of them is a sanctimonious, overbearing prick.”

He pushed his glasses up his nose and mumbled, loud enough to be heard, “And the other is _Gabriel_.”

“Crowley!” gasped Aziraphale, outraged. The demon ignored him, and crossed his arms to glare at the Archangel.

“So? Did you catch your guy?”

“I did.”

“Good. Then you can _maybe_ focus on healing Aziraphale?”

Raphael frowned. “Oh, but I did. I have found a solution, I think.”

“You think?” snapped Anathema, hands on her hips. “You’re not sure?”

The Archangel shrugged. “I can’t be certain until I have tested it on Aziraphale.”

“No,” said Crowley.

“Are you insane?” shouted Anathema.

“All right, let’s try it,” declared Aziraphale, handing Fyre to Newt.

Crowley turned sharply to him, but the angel spoke before he could. “It is my decision, after all. Do you not agree?”

Raphael nodded sternly. Crowley made a face, before grumbling a begrudging “I guess.”

“All right. Aziraphale, you need to take my hands. Maybe you should be sitting,” said Raphael, gesturing to the couch.

Crowley followed his friend like a shadow, hovering over his shoulder as the angel sat down primly. Raphael crouched in front of him.

“I am going to infuse my Grace with the healing spell, and pour it into yours. It should destroy the human magic.”

“Will it hurt him?” asked Newt worriedly.

“Only if he resists,” assured Raphael, holding out her hands for the angel to take.

Without hesitation, Aziraphale took them, blinking once at the contact. Crowley bit his lips. He knew how much the angel disliked touch. Ironically, the only way he could think of to help and soothe his friend _was_ touch, and it wouldn’t be welcome at the moment.

Raphael closed her eyes, and her hands started to glow faintly. Crowley watched Aziraphale’s face intently, but nothing seemed to change until the Archangel let go.

“How do you feel?” she asked calmly.

“I… I think it may be working,” answered Aziraphale, eyes unfocussed. “I can feel the spell dissolving…”

“Good,” said Raphael, swiftly bringing her still radiant hands on each side of his face. The glow turned into a blinding light for a second, and the angel’s eyes widened as he gasped sharply, before collapsing against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter is WRITTEN! No more chapter count changes, ha ha ha!!  
> Next post will be either a ficlet of the first chapter of a new 5+1 (I guess I'm addicted to those now^^)  
> I hope you're all having a great weekend!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wakes up. Will he be back to his old self?  
> More importantly: will there be CAKE?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my FRANCES! Look at the chapter count! LOOK!!!  
> It DIDN'T CHANGE!!!  
> I don't know what to say, I'm as surprised as you all are :)

Raphael raised a hand to secure Aziraphale’s body, but couldn’t finish her motion. In a heartbeat, Aziraphale was snatched from her grip and she found herself pushed to the floor, a long knife aimed at her throat.

“What have you _done_ to him?” yelled Crowley from the other side of the room, holding the angel’s corporation protectively, while Anathema pined the Archangel to the ground, brandishing her bread knife.

Raphael rolled her eyes. “You do realise I could destroy you, witch?” she declared matter-of-factly to the human girl towering over her. “And he’s _fine_ , Crowley, he’s just sleeping. He needs to be unconscious for a little while. Way better than letting all of his memories come back while he is awake.”

The demon untensed slightly. “Why didn’t you tell usss, then?” he snapped.

Raphael sighed. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to knock out someone who’s expecting it? Surprise is always better. Less resistance.”

Anathema looked to Crowley questioningly. He carefully deposited Aziraphale down on the couch, then nodded at her. The witch withdrew with a glare.

“You could have warned _us_.”

“Maybe I wanted to see _your_ reaction,” declared Raphael with a sly smile. “You humans have both become very close to my brother and Crowley. And _you_ put that spell on him, after all.”

Raphael got up, and snapped her fingers to straighten her white, floating robe. Unlike her fellow Archangels, she had never seen the appeal of _suits_.

Crowley made a face. “You have a twisted mind, Raphael. And that’s coming from a _demon_.”

She shrugged, and leaned to touch the angel’s temple. To Crowley’s credit, he didn’t summon Hellfire to threaten her, and only growled loudly.

She looked up at him, amused. “The spell has been destroyed, and everything seems in order. I will leave the rest in your hands, _demon_.”

“Oh? You trust me to take care of him, then? Don’t want to play another of your little mind tricks to be sure?” jeered Crowley.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I distrust you in a lot of ways, but not when Aziraphale is concerned. It’s only the humans I was testing.”

She smiled at baby Fyre, still in Newton’s arms. “This little one is _so_ adorable!”

Fyre giggled and waved at the Archangel, who waved back fondly. “Aren’t you a _sweetheart_? I could just take you back with me and hug you until the end of time!”

Newt gasped and clutched his daughter more firmly, and Anathema brandished her bread knife again.

“Just joking,” assured Raphael, dissolving in a rush of divine energy.

Newt and Anathema turned to Crowley with twin expressions of concern.

“I’m sure she wasn’t serious,” lied the demon.

He wasn’t sure at all.

* * *

With a groan, Aziraphale opened his eyes with a heavy feeling of déjà vu.

“Hey, angel. How do you feel?” asked Crowley.

Aziraphale sat down, clutching his head. “Hung over,” he moaned. “How much did we drink? We should have sobered up.”

“Nah, it’s not that. Can you… can you look at me, Aziraphale?”

The worry in his demon’s tone had the angel snap his eyes open. He winced at the sharp pain throbbing in his head, but focussed his gaze on his friend. “What is wrong? What happened, Crowley?”

The demon visibly deflated and took a step forward, then sat next to him. “It’s you,” he sighed in relief.

Aziraphale pouted. “Of course it is me, who do you want it to--Oh! _Oh, no_ , did I get possessed _again_?”

Crowley shook his head. “Nope, not this time. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry, ‘kay?”

With a sigh, Aziraphale closed his eyes and gathered his wits. Then he carefully tried to remember what had happened exactly before his awakening.

It took a few minutes, and he could vaguely discern whispering around him, but didn’t pay attention to it. When he opened his eyes again, it was to meet not only Crowley’s, but also Newt and Anathema’s*.

*Fyre was sleeping in a miracled cot upstairs.

The angel looked at the varying expressions of concern directed at him and summoned a bright smile. “That was an interesting experience,” he said carefully.

“You remember?” asked Newt.

Aziraphale scoffed. “Of course I remember. Angels can’t forget. Well… I imagine how ironic such a statement can appear after this, but I assume you understand my meaning.”

“Are you all right?” whispered Anathema.

The angel’s face softened. “Oh, my dear girl… I am _fine_ , I promise you. Please do not berate yourself. I am only glad to see you safe and sound.”

“I promise I won’t try to experiment with mind alterations anymore,” swore the witch.

“I think this is an excellent resolution, dear.” The angel looked around and clapped his hands decisively. “Now, how about some cakes? I will make cocoa! Newton, would you be so kind as to fetch us some lemon tarts at the bakery? Anathema, you should accompany him, I know you do not fancy them, you should choose something else for yourself.”

Husband and wife exchanged a look, but complied to the obvious ploy to get them out without a murmur.

Crowley waited for the doorbell to jingle before slowly turning to his friend.

“So?” he asked, keeping his expression neutral.

Aziraphale frowned, and folded his hands on his lap. “Would you be so kind as to take your glasses off, dear?”

Crowley grumbled something that looked suspiciously like “No need to talk to me like I’m the bloody _queen_ ,” but complied, and looked at his friend with a deep frown.

“Look, Aziraphale, I know you _said_ you were okay, but I know these last days must have been really scary--”

“Shut up,” said the angel softly, reaching out to engulf him in a tight hug. 

Crowley gaped, and tensed for a moment before melting into the embrace.

“I cannot begin to imagine how you felt, dear boy,” murmured Aziraphale. “I am so sorry I acted like I did not know you.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” lied Crowley. “I could have done without Gabriel, though,” he added as a second thought.

“Yes,” mused Aziraphale, a dark edge bleeding into his voice. “I do believe his actions went a smidge overboard.”

The angel let go and smoothed his waistcoat, deliberately ignoring Crowley’s discreet sweep at his eyes.

“Dearest?” he asked primly, “I have a favour to ask.”

Crowley smirked. “Already? Didn’t take you long before bossing me around.”

“I have done no such thing!”

The demon’s smile widened. “You told me to shut up not two minutes ago. That was _mean_.”

“It was only to--” started Aziraphale before noticing his friend’s grin. He swatted his arm. “Oh, you wicked thing, you!”

“Insults, now,” sighed Crowley. “I’m starting to miss innocent Aziraphale. He was nice.”

“I am sure I can ask Anathema to recreate her potion if you miss him so much,” declared Aziraphale with a pout.

“Nah, I’ll keep you. Gotten used to it. What kind of favour do you want to ask? I’m warning you, if it’s watching a magic trick, the answer is _no_.”

“It is not a magic trick, so I assume the answer is _yes_.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Well, that is what I heard.”

Crowley chuckled. He had missed this. “All right, what is it?”

Aziraphale looked away and bit his lip nervously. “I need to borrow your car for a while.”

Crowley had just got his best friend back after a week of trepidation. He would _not_ yell at him.

“You,” he said with the utmost calm, “want to drive _my_ car?”

Aziraphale looked shocked. “Dear Lord, no! Why would I do that?”

“But you said--”

“I said _borrow_. She and I have… an agreement, of some sort. I made her a promise while she was driving me home, and I want to make good on it.”

Crowley crossed his arms and glared. “Oh. Oh, an _agreement_! How nice! Please, feel free to take my car and have fun together or whatever. I don’t care.”

“Crowley, we will only be gone a few minutes. Maybe half an hour at best, I promise. She won’t have a scratch,” pleaded the angel.

“I can drive you wherever you want,” scoffed Crowley, “you don’t need to _steal my car_ for that.”

Aziraphale brought in his blessed puppy eyes. “I promised her it would only be the two of us. Please? She has been so helpful and clever.”

Crowley stood up and pointed a finger at his friend. “Don’t move.”

Aziraphale stayed put with a slightly puzzled expression as his friend stomped out of the shop.

Crowley leaned over the Bentley’s hood. “All right, girl, you saved the day back then so I won’t yell at you. But I’ll only allow it once, so don’t get too big for your tires. Taking my angel out for a joy ride without even asking first is _rude_ , young lady. Capish?”

To her credit, Bentley did look contrite. Crowley huffed and looked away, but couldn't bring himself to go back in without patting her roof.

“You’ll bring him back in one piece. Not a scratch, or I’ll sell your pieces for scraps,” he threatened unconvincingly.

Bentley grumbled as her Father entered the bookshop. Like she would let their angel get _hurt_!

“All right, Aziraphale, she’s all yours. For thirty minutes, no more.”

The angel beamed and got up. “Thank you, dear. I will be back in a jiffy. Please do not fret while I am away.”

“I don’t _fret_. You fret. You’re the fretter, not me,” muttered Crowley.

“That is good to hear.”

“Can I at least know where you’re going?”

Aziraphale patted his arm affectionately. “I am merely paying Gabriel a visit. To remind him we are to be left alone, quite indefinitely.”

At the demon’s sharp movement, Aziraphale added: “I really feel like I shall do this on my own, dear boy. I need to get a few things off my chest, and it will be easier if you are not there.”

And he looked so apologetic Crowley hid the pang of hurt at being pushed away. “Okay then. Yes, I understand, course.”

“Back in moment, dearest,” assured Aziraphale one last time before heading out.

Crowley watched him take his usual seat, and Bentley drove away.

With a frown, the demon climbed the stairs to check on Fyre (still sleeping) then sulked for ten minutes before deciding to prepare the bloody cocoa, since no one else seemed willing to do it.

He was pouring the milk into the pan when it hit him, a wave of raw power, so strong it tingled his skin uncomfortably. Even from this far away, he could feel the Grace’s ferocious intent.

This was a smiting, and not a small one. No wonder Aziraphale hadn’t wanted Crowley to accompany him. Even if he was attuned to the angel’s Grace, he was certain such an amount would _hurt_ if he were any closer. 

Aziraphale had unleashed all the wrath of a pissed off Principality, and if there was a demon in London today besides Crowley, then he pitied the poor sod, because it was a one-way ticket back to Hell.

Or Heaven, in this case.

Crowley remembered Heaven had suffered a small inconvenience in the Corporation Department lately, and that Gabriel’s only corporation still in working order was still hanging in the attic.

He wondered what the Archangel would be forced to wear.

Whistling, he got back to his milk.

Couldn’t eat cakes without cocoa, after all.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale will SHOWER his demon in affection over the next few weeks. Reruns of Golden Girls and James Bond (without the slightest scoff throughout the Bond movies), Shakespeare plays (ONLY the funny ones), angel food cakes every day and lots of cappuccinos. Whith cinnamon sticks. 
> 
> He will use every means at his disposal to prove Crowley that he remembers everything about him.  
> Crowley will have trouble surviving all this, and will feel relieved when the angel will buy two tickets for Othello. Caring Aziraphale is great, but bitching Aziraphale is BETTER.


End file.
